


Fragile Hope

by JessicaPendragon



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adamant Fortress, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Age Big Bang 2015, Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang 2015, Gen, Here Lies the Abyss, In the Fade, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5330807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaPendragon/pseuds/JessicaPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hawke is left behind in the Fade he teams up with an unlikely partner that promises a way to escape in return for one thing - the memories that he regrets the most. Written for the 2015 Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang. Art by stardustinjune.</p><p>
  <a href="http://jessicapendragon.tumblr.com/post/135241666854/fragile-hope">Tumblr Link</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragile Hope

In the end, it’s not really much of a decision at all. 

The Nightmare demon towers high above them, a grotesque thing of slimy pale skin and way too many eyes, but Hawke has seen worse. There was nothing quite like the mangled, morphed beast Orsino turned out to be. Although this one is posing a significantly bigger problem. It blocks their only exit out of the Fade and there is more at stake than Kirkwall’s cursed streets. He would think it’s ironic that it’s come down to him again, but after everything he’s been through Hawke just can’t believe it all happens by chance anymore. Someone up there really enjoys making his life miserable.

He stands to the Inquisitor’s side as they contemplate which of their companions to leave behind. It seems a little presumptuous, all things considered. Hawke is not a member of the Inquisition, of anything except Thursday night poker at the Hanged Man, and the Grey Warden nearby historically cannot belong to anyone. He’s pretty sure there are official papers that say so and everything.

But here they are, one of the last Hawkes and one of the few Wardens left, and it’s no surprise when the Inquisitor whispers his name. As far as endangered species go, there will be little fall out if his kind no longer walks Thedas. He’s grateful in a strange way. Even if they had chosen Alistair to remain behind he would have done the same thing he is now - rushing head long towards claws, hoping Anders will forgive him, and thinking about the poor sod the universe will pick on next once he’s gone. This way it’s another person’s horrible decision and that’s a comfort for those who have made too many of their own.

After the end, because of course there’s an after, Hawke looks up at the sky with no beginning and wonders just how many times someone can come close to death and no longer be considered alive. 

The Nightmare demon is gone, not dead, but run off somewhere to lick its wounds. Apparently its power was tied to the presence of the Inquisitor in some magical way Hawke doesn’t want to even try to understand. All he knows is the massive thing shrunk when the rift closed and his unwinnable fight turned into something a little bit more manageable for a warrior with his experience and general dislike for being torn into tiny pieces. So now he is injured but alive in the Fade, alone, when he was meant to die one last hero’s death and join his family again. 

The weeping wound against his side is making him lightheaded and for a moment he considers just lying there and letting it run him dry. There’s nothing left for him here, no way to get back to where he belongs. He is no mage and he doubts he can simply bash his way out of the Fade. It would be perfectly acceptable to stop fighting this time. No one is even around to see him finally give up. 

“Will you remain there forever?”

Hawke covers the cut and rolls up to find the source of the voice. It looks like a human although he’s not naive enough to believe it’s a real one. Or blind to the heavy scales covering grey skin and a sharp smile that’s much too wide. A demon doing a bad impression of a human, but considering all the hideous ones he’s fought today it’s an effort he would appreciate if it likely didn’t mean this one was something worse than all the rest.

He stands, slow and steady, casually reaching out to grab his shield and sword. The creature doesn’t approach, however, only looks at him with cloudy eyes and a tilted head as it sits atop of a rock. Hawke doesn’t exactly have the best knowledge of demons. Adamant introduced him to more than he cares to catalog and this thing looks like none of them. It merely watches him, silent, unnerving, definitely creepy. Should he attack first? He’d rather avoid a fight at all if possible. Are there friendly demons? Seems quite the oxymoron. He’d take a good old Desire any day over whatever this is. At least he’d go out with a smile.

“Are you going to try to kill me or not?”

“Why would I do such a thing when you are worth more to me alive? A non-mage in the Fade. You are...most interesting.” 

“What kind of demon are you? Patience, perhaps? Never had the time for it so maybe I wouldn’t recognize it.”

“I am a child of Despair. I am Regret.”

 _Ah, shit,_  he thinks.

“Ah, shit,” he says and the thing gives a slow smile. 

“We could sense all of you entering the Fade but the Nightmare was too strong to risk its wrath and interfere. Now that it is weakened I can have you.”

“And now that you have me, what are you going to do?”

Regret hops down from its little perch, hands at its sides, feet light, shoulders low. Not a threat. Or the biggest one yet. “You won’t survive for very long here. Your only chance is to find a way to another part where a rift is opened. I can show you the way.”

“For a price, one assumes.” Making deals with demons. If there’s one thing he knows it’s how well that never works out.

Regret slinks closer and he lets it. If it wanted him dead he would’ve been so by now. Hawke fears it wants something much worse than that. It raises a dangerously clawed hand level with his head. “I want what is inside there. I can sense all the regret but I cannot see it. I must see it. Let me in and I will guide you to the nearest rift and put you safely through it.”

“You’ll possess me?”

It rolls its eyes. “We have little use for those without magic. And what good would a body do me in here? I would die as quickly as you will if I do not help you. All I want is to know your memories. A small price to pay to be free, I would think.”

The thing does not know the weight of his regret or else it might think different. Hawke could strike out on his own in any direction and hope that it will lead him back home. Seems a far better decision than betting all his chips on a demon to keep its word. He glances around at the flaking rocks and pools reflecting the sickly green sky. Everything looks the same, bleak, broken, like it will hurt you just by touching it. He thinks about how disorienting it was at the beginning and how the Inquisitor was the only one who could find a way forward guided by their scattered memories.

He thinks he should just fall on his own sword and get it over with. He wishes he could ever give up so easily. “Fine, I accept your offer,” he says and hopes it’s not another regret to add to his long list.

His tour guide gives another smile that makes him shiver. “Follow me.”

“So how is this going to work?” he asks as they begin their journey. Hawke keeps his sword and shield at the ready. Even if he is safe from this demon, there could still be plenty more lurking behind every shadow. Would Regret aid him in fending them off or stand to the side with that unnerving, amused expression? The thought reminds him of a memory long ago when Bethany was forced to fight for him.

“Garrett,” his mother whispers behind him. He almost drops everything in his haste to turn around but there is nothing there except the eerie emptiness of the Fade. “Garrett!” she yells in the opposite direction and when he swivels this time the world turns bright and loud.

He stands in a dusty, narrow alleyway with rows and rows of housing teetering up into the blue sky around him. Hawke knows it in an instant. It is where his home in Denerim was. It creaked in the wind and smells seeped through the cracks in the wood, but he had his own little loft away from the twins and the world, a tiny hole in the ceiling to see the stars. It was the longest they managed to stay in one place until Lothering, long enough to make friends and dream about the future. A life worth staying around for.

And it was his fault they had to leave it all behind.

“Garrett! Stop standing there and do something! I need your help with this pack.”

He returns into their modest dwelling to find the place in upheaval. Boxes and bags pile high atop their dining table, drawers pulled out and vomiting out cloth and trinkets. There isn’t much. Their neighbors might think the Hawkes were a simple family not interested in personal things, but when they’ve moved as many times as they have, it’s just practical to learn to live without.

His mother shoves blankets into a bag, her mouth and brows in a harsh, angry line. Carver is much the same as he throws anything silver he can find into a box that rattles and jingles. Bethany’s soft crying joins the depressing symphony as she sits on the stairs with her head in her hands. His face hurts where fists connected, the skin swollen beneath his one eye, and the skin of his knuckles are still raw. It’s hardly a pain at all compared to what came after.

“Take this into the back alley. Your father should be there soon with the cart.” Leandra heaves a sack into his arms. “Bethany! Stop crying and come help.”

“Mom-”

“Don’t yell at her!” Carver shouts back at the same time he does. 

“Be quiet, the both of you!”

“I can carry Bethany’s luggage too,” he offers.  

“You’ve done enough,” Leandra snaps. His younger self had been angry, resentful, couldn’t understand how she could be so cruel sometimes. His older self didn’t always understand it either, but there’s something about looking back through new eyes to help you understand. His mother was so very tired for so very long. 

“Lea.” He remembers feeling relief at the sound of his father’s voice interfering. Hawke feels something else now, a pang of infinite loss. Malcolm slips through the back door, all strong bulk and black hair and blue eyes. Just like him. He sees his father in the mirror every day and grapples between thinking it a curse and a gift.

One of Malcolm’s hands wraps around Leandra’s wrist, the other brushing gently against her cheek. He whispers something no one else can hear and she sighs, still upset but less so at his touch. 

“I brought the wagon. We have about thirty minutes until the guard changes and my friend will get us out of the city unnoticed,” Malcolm informs them as he goes to stand by Bethany and holds out his hand. “Come on, little love.”

She sniffs, wiping her nose on the back of her hand before reaching out to take his. She is much too big now to carry but Malcolm hauls her up in his arms nonetheless. That was his father, carrying them through anything and bringing them out alive. Hawke has been a little resentful that in the end, Malcolm didn’t think to keep himself alive, a little guilty that he couldn’t carry them so well in his place. Some things just can’t be replaced.

Twenty-six minutes later they roll through a side gate and out of Denerim for good. Hawke sits by his father’s side as the others rest in the back amongst whatever belongings they managed to take with them this time. It’s enough, but at the same time it’s never enough. Pieces of you get left behind and you don’t even notice until you’re too far away to go back for them.

The early morning is quiet and he wishes it wasn’t so. It’s too easy for him to remember what happened. The fight is avoidable, ill-advised, but at seventeen years old Hawke’s blood is hotter than a mage’s fireball. Two against one are odds he is willing to bet on. He isn’t prepared for the fourth player in the game, however. Bethany is screaming as they hold him down and then they are screaming as she launches lightning and thunder until they disappear around a corner. He will never forget her face- tears rushing down flushed cheeks, anger and sadness mixing together and making her lips tremble. She knows the cost and he should have never made them pay it.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he says as dust and shame make his own eyes water.

“Denerim was getting boring anyways,” Malcolm says following a long pause and they both know it’s a lie. “I know you’re sorry. Learn from your mistakes and don’t let them control you. Maker knows you’ll have plenty more in the future, but I know you’ll try harder, do better. This family needs us to do better.”

“I understand.”

“And who knows? Maybe Lothering will be everything we’ve ever dreamed of. I hear there’s a lot of nice land for farming.”

“You’ve never farmed a day in your life.”

“Never too old to start.”  Malcolm smiles and claps him on the shoulder. “Regret always looks backwards, Garrett. Hope looks forwards. Remember that.”

Lothering turns out to be tolerable, a home filled with the smell of sweet bread and easy memories for a time, but he never shakes the idea that maybe his father would still be alive if they had remained in Denerim. If it weren’t for him.

Hawke gasps as the Fade comes back into hazy clarity. His weapons lay at his feet, a feeble distance between him and the demon only a few breaths away.

“What is wrong with you? You could warn me next time.” He’s mad at this thing, of course, but some of that anger is directed inward. If he’s honest, most of it is for himself. He could have done much better. Much better, and only a little bit worse.

Regret considers him a moment. “I will do so in the future.”

Hawke lets out a sigh as he bends down to retrieve the sword and shield. “Thank you. Can we get moving again then?”

He is relieved when the demon seems to agree and leads onward again. Hawke isn’t so lucky to have Regret forget about what it saw and leave him be about it though.

“’Regret always looks backwards. Hope looks forwards.’ You try to do as he said, but you cling to things of the past. Things that cannot be changed. Why?”

“You’re Regret. Do I really need to tell you?”

“I am...young, in a way. I am learning to see and understand what compels emotions.”

“How young?” He gives a laugh. “Trapped in the Fade and made to babysit. Something’s never change it seems.”

Regret flashes its long claws and Hawke watches as its scales begin to glow and move, hissing like a rattler’s tail. Its murky eyes turn black, its smile red. “I am still old enough to tear you apart, human.”

Hawke wonders how much of this posturing is true or just for show, but he doesn’t ask the question out loud. He knows better than to say something stupid without Aveline there to back him up. Instead he puts his hands up in surrender.

“Sorry to have offended you.” Regret settles slowly and they continue on their wayward walk although it is clear the thing still wants an answer from him by the way it keeps glancing over.

“It’s hard to let some things go,” he finds himself explaining for some reason. What can he possibly teach a demon about anything? Why does he even care? Perhaps it’s just to pass the time. He’s never really done well with quiet. “Emotions make attachments that aren’t so easy to break.”

“So why feel them?”

Hawke snorts. “Do you think we really have a choice?”

“Even if there was such a choice, most mortals would still choose to feel.”

He thinks about the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of mages made Tranquil against their wills. If the rite could be reversed he doubts many of them would ever want to go back to being an emotionless corpse. Hawke can remember the desperation in Karl’s voice for that small moment of time when he was himself again and the memory of it haunts him still.

Though who wouldn’t want to be able to let all the bad things bounce off? To forget regret, fear, anger, shame, drunken escapades that won’t let you show your face in certain areas again. Loss. Oh, he’s heard the old notion of “the bad makes the good that much better” or some variant of that. It’s always sounded like something people say to try to make themselves feel better than anything like truth. He only knows this - bad things are inevitable. Like death. It’s better to not think about them at all and concentrate on the good things while they last. Easier said than done, of course.

“I see you do not fully understand your own human complexities. A shame. Perhaps looking through more of your memories will help me understand in a way you cannot.”

“We’ve been around for thousands of years and you demons only manage to possess a number of mages not really even worth counting in the grand scheme of things. I doubt you’re going to find the solution in my head but don’t let me ruin your hopes.”

Regret gives him a sneer. “Not all of us are interested in possession. Foolish mortals. For all your abilities to dream impossible things, you think very small. Enough talk for now.”

It’s probably for the best. He does want to get out of the Fade in one piece and arguing with what he imagines is the only willing guide is likely not the greatest course of action. They manage to make it to the next rise before his self-control slips.

“So, Reggie, what did you mean by you are young in a way?”

“Our deal is that I learn more about you, not the other way around. I need not tell you anything, mortal.”

“The name’s Hawke.”

“And mine is not ‘Reggie’.”

“Fine. I’ll stop calling you that if you answer my question.” He doesn’t really care all that much. Demons and spells are not his area of expertise or interest, but he has a feeling that this type of partnership between them is something unique. If he really does get out of here, Merrill will want to hear all about it. And Anders-

No, he can’t think about Anders.

Regrets snaps its head in his direction, sniffing like a scent hound, so Hawke smiles and thinks of Isabela’s obsession with big brimmed hats until his head starts to ache. 

After finding nothing worthwhile in his thoughts it begrudgingly answers his question. “I have existed for many years but not until recently did I take a form. It is how all new spirits come to be, aggregated from pieces of memories, emotions, and old spirits who floated apart in the ether.”

Oh, Merrill would love all of this indeed, but now he thinks about telling it while Fenris is in the room and watching the line of his mouth turn to stone. Hawke smiles even as a pang of homesickness pricks his heart. Will the Inquisitor wait for the chance he might make it out of the Fade? Will they come back for him? Seemed like an easy thing to open up a rift, but maybe it’s more difficult to predict where it will open. Still, he hopes they just don’t give up on him. He’d hate for a demon to be only thing in his corner even if it’s turning out to be somewhat polite.

They walk on for quite a distance over minutes, hours, centuries, it’s impossible to tell when everything appears the same and there is no sun above. He only knows time has passed by the ache of his limbs and growling of his stomach. There’s only a handful of nuts and travel tack in the bottom of his pack and he hesitates to eat it now. Who knows how long he might be in this place, but thinking he might survive longer than a few days seems rather naive too.

“What is that noise?” Regret asks, tensed for battle as his stomach protests again, and he can’t help but laugh.

“I don’t suppose you have any food to eat?”

“Food?” Regret glances around at barren rocks and green crystals and for the first time, the demon looks out of place. A detailed search unearths some water, tepid and bitter tasting, but safe enough to drink. At Regret’s suggestion, he tries sucking on some of the crystals but only ends up with his tongue going numb after a few licks. The demon might not be trying to kill him, but it isn’t making things easy. He caves in and eats the remainder of food in his pack with the hope that either he will be long gone by the time he’s hungry again or at least he’ll die on a full stomach.

“Now,” Regret begins when he is finished, “I would also like to feed as well.”

Ugh, not at all creepy. “Go ahead.”

“Think of something of which you are remorseful and please, make it interesting.”

He can’t really stop the memory from surfacing before Regret latches onto it and pulls it onto shore. The Fade disappears and he is back in his Hightown manor. Bodahn tends to the sleepy fire in the main hall as Hawke shoves Orana’s breakfast into his mouth. It no longer feels like he’s walking on the skeletons of his grandparents in this place anymore. There’s lilies on the table, his letters strewn across the desk, and Anders’ manifesto shoved in almost every crevice. It took some time, but it feels like home even if there are only two Hawkes currently residing. 

“Would you like more, Mistress Amell?” Orana asks nearby.

“Oh no, but it was very good. Thank you.”

He doesn’t have any qualms with another heaping helping of the elf’s cooking, however. The feeling of a full belly is one he greatly appreciates about their new lives.

“It’s going to be a beautiful day,” Leandra says, sighing happily into her cup of tea as she glances towards the glistening windows. “I thought about going to the market today and perhaps the gardens. Would you come with me, Garrett?”

“I can’t, have plans,” he mutters around mouthfuls of food. It wasn’t really the truth. His plans involved convincing Isabela and Fenris to go fishing with him out on the Wounded Coast, a thing they knew nothing about at this moment and would likely end with one of them dunked beneath the waves. The truth was strolling through Kirkwall and stopping at every booth and interesting leaf his mother found was not how he wanted to live out the day.

“You never spend time with me anymore. Always off with those friends of yours. Would it kill you to make time for your mother?”  

He jumps up from the table as he chugs a glass of juice to wash it all down. There’s a storm in this room brewing and he’d rather avoid it no matter how right she is. He knows she must be lonely even with the others in this house, still feeling Carver’s permanent absence and Bethany’s recent one. “Tomorrow I’ll make it up to you, all right? We’ll spend the day doing whatever you want, I promise.”

“Gamlen mentioned a play in town this weekend. I’ll ask him about it later tonight.”

Hawke gives a quick kiss to his mother’s temple before he all but bolts from the room. “Sounds great. I’ll see you later!”

And he does see her later, or what remains of her. She is a strewn together thing in his arms, eyes cloudy and skin bloodless, and he wants to scream for the horror of it all. Demons, darkspawn, red lyrium, magisters, it’s been one battle after the next and this is one that he’s not sure he can survive. Varric tells him there was nothing he could have done, but he knows differently. If only he had been with her that day instead of brushing her off. If only he had thought about someone else instead of what he wanted, she would not be dead and he would not be the last Hawke left in Hightown. 

This is his doing as much as it was Quentin’s. He has ruined his family piece by piece. How could she have been proud of him at all?  It takes some effort for Aveline and Anders to pry him away. At least he is not alone to grieve as his friends rally around him, as his love stays close throughout the dark nights and darker thoughts.

The vision fades away slowly this time as he returns to the now. There is water under his eyes and he wipes it away with the back of his hand and hopes that he wasn’t such a wreck here as he was in the memory. The Fade seems even quieter, heavier under Regret’s attention. He can’t quite meet its gaze.

Thankfully, it has little to say this time. It seems as waylaid by what occurred as he does. Shouldn’t a demon want take each jagged edge of his pain and cut him apart with it? Regret only looks at him before jerking its head to continue marching on. There’s a spark of color as it turns to leave that pulls Hawke from his stupor. “What’s that?”

Regret follows his outstretched finger to the glistening spot on its arm. A few of its scales have changed there, the putrid grey replaced by a rainbow shining like an opal. The demon rubs its hand across the new marks, as if it might scour them away, but they remain. It frowns down at the arm before throwing it behind its back. “It’s...nothing. Come.”

Their journey continues onward with the same routine. He tries to learn more about the Fade and demons, or spirits, as Regret likes to correct him. Then Regret probes into his mind for a time and asks him about his feelings on the matter, although he keeps the worst locked far away where it cannot reach. Most are not so difficult to live through again save for watching Bethany being dragged into the Wardens. He wishes he had listened and not taken her into the Deep Roads, but his sister still lives and he believes the Hero of Ferelden will find that cure. It was one of the other reasons he was glad to take Alistair’s place - if anyone can find it, it will be those two heroes together. 

Hawke watches as more scales on Regret’s skin turn to something actually beautiful and as larger patches appear the scales meld together into a seamless piece, clear and sparkling like glass. He’s not sure what is happening but he stops asking when Regret snaps and the ground shakes beneath him. Clearly a sensitive, spirit subject. He also notices shadows at the edges of his vision for the first time that he thinks might be other inhabitants of the Fade. Is his partner weakening and they are closing in for the kill or are they coming across a more populated area? Are there cities in the Fade besides this one on the horizon that refuses to grow closer?

“You are a strange mortal,” Regret decides suddenly and it tears away his attention with the skittering shapes.

“And you are a strange demon, don’t you think? Making deals with humans when all you get is some measly memories in return. Doesn’t seem very textbook behavior to me.”

“Like I have said you think small,” it replies, but it almost sounds affectionate this time. “I want to...help, I think.”

Now he has heard everything. “To help?”

“It is what Nightmare wanted once. It was a spirit that took away people’s fears of the Blight in hopes of easing their suffering, but it took too much for too long. I can take away regrets, maybe make people forget about them like that spirit of Compassion you journeyed with.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? If it didn’t work out for that monstrosity I doubt it’s going to work out for you very well either.”

“It was not careful. I can be careful. Regret is precision, fear is all encompassing.”

“I don’t know, seems like taking in bad stuff will never make good stuff come out in the end.”

“Would you prefer I became something that only gives misery, then? Only remind people of all that they have done wrong as they linger between sleep and waking? Torture them so they may never know rest?” It approaches, one eye still muddled while the other is turning into a clear orange. There are wicked, black nails remaining on some of its fingers and it curls them close to his face. “I know you are keeping one memory from me. Would you like me to tear it out of you, have you relive it over and over? Is that what you want?”

“Hey I’m just trying to help! There’s obviously something going on with you already.”

“I-” It pulls away. “It makes no matter. We are here.”

“Wait, what?” Hawke glances around but there are no green portals to anywhere nearby. He grabs hold of his sword’s pommel. Was it a trap all along?

“Just beyond this turn. Soon you will be home.”

Home. He can hardly believe it. Oh he’s sure to end up in some back end part of Thedas likely months away from where he needs to be, but he can handle raiders and giants and whatever else the normal world can throw at him if only he can escape from here. And, as strangely fond as he is of Regret, from this demon too. He won’t let Varric talk him into any more adventures ever again, that’s for sure.

His feet are sore but he doesn’t feel the ache anymore as he follows quickly on Regret’s heels. The thought of fresh water, a gigantic roasted pig and a feather bed fill his mind. Above it all, soon he’ll be with Anders again and that is worth any temporary inconvenience. 

As they finally round the bend, Regret comes to a sudden stop and somehow Hawke manages to keep them both upright as he runs into the spirit. 

“What-” The rift crackles across an open space, teasing tendrils reaching out in invitation, and right above it the Nightmare demon crouches on its deadly legs waiting for its prey to come to it. It is a little bigger than before, less bloody, and with blatant murder in its eyes directed straight at him. 

 _Maker’s balls_ , could he ever catch a break? 

“You have got to be kidding me. One time, just one time! That’s all I ask for.” He yanks his shield from his back and rips his sword free of its scabbard. The two weapons come together and the noise bangs sharp through the Fade. Blood boils beneath skin as the rush of battle fills his veins. With a yell he rushes towards Nightmare, low and steady like a ram.

An armored leg lifts to skewer him and he dodges, blade sweeping around to hack at the limb and cutting deep. Black blood spurts over his greaves as an angry howl echoes above him and Hawke doesn’t stop slashing his way across the field. He is tired and sore, alone and out of options, but he will not let this beast defeat him. He will not die here. 

For the first time in this Maker forsaken place, he lets himself think about Anders. He didn’t want the demons to use his apostate against him, but he needs his presence now. There is nothing that gives him pure strength, nothing that makes him fight harder, than the thought of being together. He holds onto the memory of caramel colored eyes and a smile that pulls to the right, of smooth hands and soft hair that tickles against his skin. Of a farewell kiss holding onto the hope of another. 

After everything they’ve been through this cannot be how it ends.

A hiss sounds behind him and he pivots with shield raised. Acid splashes against it, a few specks landing on his cheek and burning flesh. Spiders. Always, always spiders. Why is he even afraid of them anymore? The creature raises up on its hind legs to lash out with soaking fangs only to have a glistening arrow pierce through its skull. It shrieks, spasms, and falls away to reveal Regret standing behind it with a bow of light in hand. 

Almost all of its scales are gone, skin clear and delicate looking, and its eyes shine vibrant in the darkness. “To your left!” it shouts and snaps Hawke from his lapse of concentration. 

Together they cut down the dozens of small demons that pop from the ground while Hawke weaves in between Nightmare’s many legs, hacking and slashing and standing far from the massive jaws. Regret is no seasoned warrior, but its arrows find targets more often than not and at least wound well enough for Hawke to finish the weakened things. The mighty, twisted demon looming above trembles as its sickened blood begins to make the ground slick. 

Suddenly, Nightmare hobbles away from him on its remaining good legs to change its tactics and goes after his partner in battle. Before he can even call out a warning, one of those pointed legs aims at Regret’s chest. It sounds like glass breaking as it pierces through the skin and out the other side. The spirit looks down at the wound, its mouth a little circle of surprise before pain fills its eyes. Hawke watches as another tapered leg rises, to cut or impale he does not know, because he won’t allow it. 

He flashes across the battlefield and bashes his shield against the incoming doom. The impact shoots up his arm in aching waves and he can’t be sure if it’s the demon that howls or him. By his count, that’s only two good legs left. The Nightmare can’t last much longer. Regret slides off, shards of its skin showering like glittering gems on the ground, but it manages to take a breath and keep its feet. “Are you all right?”

Hawke should have anticipated the next move before it was too late. Another thing to add to list of things he should’ve done differently.

Regret’s eyes grow large, blood rolling down the side of its mouth as it tries to speak. Hawke manages to turn and lift his shield, but it makes no matter. He forgot about the fangs. A rookie mistake if there ever was one. Nightmare lifts him up in its massive mouth and then there is only flashes of agony, the ripping of mail and skin, the crunch of metal as his own shield breaks his body under the pressure. 

After, because of course there’s still an after, he gazes up at the sky coming to an end and knows there will be no surviving this one. 

Regret leans over him almost too bright to look at as his vision grows dim. He doesn’t know what’s happened to Nightmare, doesn’t know if it’s quiet because it’s gone or he just can’t hear anymore until the spirit speaks.

“I am sorry,” it says and, funny enough, Hawke believes it. “I do not think I can keep my end of the bargain.”

He’ll let it slide this time considering it’s as much his fault as anyone’s. Hawke tries to speak, to get one last quip in about I owe you’s, but his tongue is heavy and he thinks there’s more blood than air in his throat.

“I can see the memory you wished to keep from me now. You regret not killing him there amongst the wreckage of his madness and it is a shameful thing you try to push far down. You hear him cry at night, watch the circles under his eyes grow larger. There are days you think you belong to a corpse. It would have been kinder to end him there when he was something whole and not what your failures made broken.”

Something cool touches his cheek, a brush of polished fingers and the tickle of tears. Regret’s expression is no longer frightening but soft, gentle, as everything in him starts to lose feeling. “But you did not fail him. You have fought for him every day and made him believe in second chances. Even when you are gone, he will not stop fighting for what you have created. You have given him hope and I...I wish to do the same for you while I can.”

Hawke blinks and it is Anders that he sees. There is a wound on his chest but no, it fades away and he forgets about what he was looking at. The fingers against his face are rougher now, still soft but calloused from years of holding a staff and smell of elfroot and lyrium. Hawke reaches up with what little strength he has and feels stubble and warm skin. A crooked smile beams down at him and sets his heart fluttering although that might be the impending death drawing near. He was dying, wasn’t he? 

“Hello, love.”

“I-” Hawke sits up in his bed and glances around. Wooden walls surround them as a fire crackles contentedly in the hearth. It is their quiet cottage along the coast cradled between thick trees and sand. He could have sworn he was somewhere else just a moment ago, somewhere green and cold. “What happened?”

“You fell asleep right in the middle of the good part.” Anders flashes the book in his hand and Hawke catches a glimpse of a familiar dwarf on the back cover. “You’ve been working too hard.”

“You wanted a palace. I’ll be damned if I don’t give you one.”

“I never said that.”

“Oh no? Maybe that was me.”

Anders laughs, breathy but alive, and it is the most beautiful sound Hawke has ever heard. He leans forward and loses his fingers in the silk strands of blonde hair as he steals a kiss. He could live forever against those lips and the feeling of utter love that courses through his body at their touch. It is some type of miracle that out of all the loss and suffering, out of the bad mistakes and roads not taken, that they could find themselves wrapped up together in a corner of the world all their own. There are bad days, he knows, days when thoughts turn inward to dark places of regret, but he holds onto every smile and laugh, every day the sun shines within bronzed eyes.

“I love you,” Anders whispers and it fills every crack and shadow of his worries to hear.

“I love you too.”

“You should go back to sleep. You still look tired.” And he does feel tired and suddenly it seems a difficult thing to keep his eyes open. But Anders’ chest is comfy and pleasant and he doesn’t protest falling into it. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” he asks, mumbling like a child asking for another story. Hawke feels another bout of laughter against his skin as Anders kisses his brow.

“Always.”

Hawke lets his eyes drift closed, the sound of a steady heartbeat carrying him off into the void, and knows tomorrow will be even better than this

* * *

 

He screams his name into the swirling green landscape. Every echo back without a reply slices into him without mercy. There is nothing but silence around him, nothing but the sound of his heart shattering inside. Hawke cannot be gone.  _He cannot be gone_.

Anders has searched the Fade night after night while by day he searches for other ways to reach him and every day he grows closer to the Inquisition’s stronghold but he must be careful. He is still one of Thedas’ most wanted yet he will not simply abandon Hawke like everyone else has. If anyone could survive the impossible, it would be Hawke. Anders will make the Inquisitor open another rift so he can find what should never have been left behind.

Justice stirs from the deep finally awoken again by this pain, but it is no longer its fight. Once it was impossible to push the spirit down. Now it is only his thoughts that live in his mind. That day changed everything. Hawke changed everything when he traded the bite of steel for the forgiveness of a caring heart. He can’t abandon Hawke when he saved him.

“Hawke!” His voice is broken and he feels it.  How can he go on without him?

The crunching of feet reaches his ears and he pivots towards the sound, arms raised with a spell tickling his skin just in case. “Hawke?”

It is not his love that walks through the mist but a spirit unlike any he has ever seen. Skin sparkles like cathedral glass and it looks just as easy to fracture. There is a hole in its chest healing over slowly. Bright, tangerine eyes filled with an intelligence he doesn’t expect from most denizens of this world watch him expectantly like they are old friends meeting.

“He is not here,” it says. Justice is very quiet, watching and waiting with interest. At least Anders doesn’t need to fear this entity it seems.

“Y-you know Hawke? Where is he?”

There is sadness in those strange eyes and it is the sympathy there too that has Anders’ legs weakening. He falls to the ground, fingers grasping the dull dirt of the Fade. “I am sorry,” it says. “I was with him in his last moments. He did not suffer needlessly.”

Everything is different in the Fade, muted and subdued, but the pain he feels in his heart is hard enough to pull ragged cries from his mouth. He knew it would end this way but could not let go of the smallest chance he could be wrong. He would say it’s not fair, but that isn’t true. Every moment they spent together was a gift he didn’t deserve, every moment a lifetime beyond worth.

“We made a bargain, he and I. I did not fulfill what was required of me and I wish to make amends. I wish to help you.”

“Why?” he croaks out, more upset that Hawke was foolish enough to make deals with demons. Is he not a living example of the dangers of such things?

“Because he was a very strange mortal. Because...he changed me too.” It holds out a hand and waits patiently as Anders decides. He knows demons. Their voices have taunted and teased him almost his whole life and he certainly knows a thing or two about spirits. He can sense no dishonesty from it, no malcontent. Just looking at it makes him feel...

Anders grasps hold and is pulled up by a strong and welcoming embrace. “What are you?”

It smiles and the hurt ahead doesn’t seem so impassable. “I am Hope.”


End file.
